The thing about not being a big damn hero is that sometimes you're a big damn hero.
In Stiles' case, it's usually involving people important to him. Would he jump in front of a bus for someone random? No. For someone he loved? Consider him dead. In this case, it's more of the latter--Stiles is still reeling from the "gift" he got earlier in the day. The sight of the heart in his hands, literally, is something that's going to haunt him for the rest of his life, the fact that it was still convulsing as if it could heal itself back into Derek's chest. And he wasn't thinking, how could he have possibly been thinking, and it had taken Stiles all of ten seconds to tear out of the room, slamming down the hallways as he looks for something, anything, a body or a murderer or something, and it's when he tramples down the stairs yelling for anyone he can (Isaac, Allison, even Dean, help), Stiles makes it to the fifth floor and downright freezes, because there's a body that looks too familiar against the wall.
There's enough time for a "--oh my god", horrified, and he stumbles forward, feeling the bile rising in his throat--
--and the pickaxe comes out of nowhere, slamming him in between his shoulder blades, and Stiles hits the ground minutes later in a bloody mess, back and neck sliced to pieces, sprawled out like he might as well already be outlined in body chalk.
2.14 | stiles stilinski
In Stiles' case, it's usually involving people important to him. Would he jump in front of a bus for someone random? No. For someone he loved? Consider him dead. In this case, it's more of the latter--Stiles is still reeling from the "gift" he got earlier in the day. The sight of the heart in his hands, literally, is something that's going to haunt him for the rest of his life, the fact that it was still convulsing as if it could heal itself back into Derek's chest. And he wasn't thinking, how could he have possibly been thinking, and it had taken Stiles all of ten seconds to tear out of the room, slamming down the hallways as he looks for something, anything, a body or a murderer or something, and it's when he tramples down the stairs yelling for anyone he can (Isaac, Allison, even Dean, help), Stiles makes it to the fifth floor and downright freezes, because there's a body that looks too familiar against the wall.
There's enough time for a "--oh my god", horrified, and he stumbles forward, feeling the bile rising in his throat--
--and the pickaxe comes out of nowhere, slamming him in between his shoulder blades, and Stiles hits the ground minutes later in a bloody mess, back and neck sliced to pieces, sprawled out like he might as well already be outlined in body chalk.
He didn't even have time to scream.